


Paper Trail

by Guntz



Series: Paper Trail'verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Balin Is So Done, Bilbo's Widow, Bofur is a Sweetheart, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fulfilling a Wish, Gandalf Meddles, Hobbit and Dwarves Ancestry, Mother Hen Dori, Multi, Other, Overprotective Dwarves, Overprotective Thorin, Possessive Thorin, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guntz/pseuds/Guntz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becoming a young widow after the untimely passing of her dear husband Bilbo, Chrys honestly believed she was going to spend the rest of her life guarding Bilbo's heirlooms and belongings from the greedy clutches of the nosy Sackville-Baggins couple.</p><p>But then a meddlesome Wizard barges in with an offer of an adventure which includes a group of unruly Dwarves and their arrogant leader...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chrysanthe

**Author's Note:**

> Paper Trail'verse Hobbits
> 
> Hobbits are distant descendants of the Dwarves in this story. 
> 
> Yavanna, wife of Aulë, leads away a small tribe of Dwarves who had fallen out of love with their mountain, treasure, battle, and smithwork. She gifts them with a land that would later be known as the Shire, and from these Dwarves the Hobbits are their descendants. Hobbits are much smaller than their bulky and hairy cousins, and they are rather known for caution than battle.
> 
> Dwarves and Hobbits, however, live very long lives, almost 300 if one lives a healthy life. They dwell within the earth, they are mostly isolated creatures, and they both have a great love for feasts and celebrations. 
> 
> Dwarves are known for their great culture in the finest smithwork, great in the battlefield with their axes, and are known for their stubborn ways and short tempers while Hobbits are more diplomatic, willing to be open-minded, and more preferable with bows and arrows if push comes to shove. Because Dwarves are bulky and thick-skinned, they can endure cold climates and barely catch illnesses, unlike Hobbits who prefer warmer weather and are a bit fragile than their ancient cousins.
> 
> P.S.  
> Hobbits don't have big, flat, hairy feet, they're normal-sized, but they wear light leather/moccasins boots or flats to keep their presence silent and unknown when traveling out in the open road where danger is.

Chrysanthe Took sat quietly on the garden bench outside of her family's smials. The home was large to encase herself, her multiple sisters, and her parents, and the garden lawn was wide and spacious for her not to be bothered should her younger siblings come out to play badminton.

The book on her lap had been read dozens, if not hundreds, of times since she received it on her sixty-eight birthday. She adored it. The plot, the pacing, the journey of the characters that grew the more she continued to read, but that's not what made the novel special. This was a gift handed to her by someone very dear to Chrys, and she favored this book above all others.

It was hardly a secret, it was actually an open secret; acknowledged but not said out loud. Confounded nosy relatives.

Her sisters still liked to giggle about how she swooned when Bilbo Baggins placed the book in her hands.

The fair-haired tween was hopelessly enamored with the older gentlehobbit. Bilbo was witty, sharp-tongued, had class, was a total sweetheart, respectful, and was indulging in joining Chrys when she wanted to play badminton. It was amusing how he tried to hard to be on his best behavior when all she could see was the mischievous glint in his hazel green eyes, the way they sparked to life when he gave a backhanded compliment to Lobelia's dry remarks. His Tookish nature was on a tight leash, but it was there.

Her elders were amused by their relationship, but there was an air of wariness when her mother or one of her elder sisters kept Chrys and Bilbo company at all times. Her mother worried, sometimes pulling Chrysanthe's meeting with Bilbo short with excuses of needing extra hands in the kitchen or garden. It made the young woman feel like she was being treated like a child rather than a young lady. She knew what she was doing, she knew that she was much younger for her distant cousin, but Bilbo had been nothing but kind and understanding. He respected the time they had together, always treated their chaperone like they were invited rather than forced to watch our moves, and Chrys couldn't help but imagine herself being courted by Bilbo.

Yet as much as she wished it was so, she was much aware of the reality of her situation.

Being a young Took reaching her Coming of Age, suitors from most of the prominent families would be invited by her father, Old Took, and granny Adamanta to join the celebration. It was a subtle attempt to have her find someone to court, marry, find a good home with, and have children. Her elder sisters had gone through this, and it was inevitable that she would go through it herself. She desperately wished for something more, but she had to grow up and face reality.

She lost interest in reading the book in her hands, Chrys' eyes staring at her hands sitting neatly on her lap.

She wished she could do something more exciting than accidentally setting off a multitude of fireworks from inside a tent that an old wizard had brought during Old Took's three hundred and first birthday (she was sharply scolded by her parents when she was founded out by her snitch of a cousin Brandybuck).

"It seems I've come in a bad time."

Chrysanthe jerked from the bench she was sitting on, and to her embarrassment, there at the front gate stood Bilbo Baggins, the very Hobbit that had been clouding her thoughts as of late. There a look of concern on his handsome face, and the young Hobbit stuttered before leaping to her feet to let him through the gate. Bilbo had been visiting her father lately to discuss financial matters, and she could only guess it was about the dowry. The thought only made her feel like winter had come too early with how cold she felt.

"If you'd like to wait in the parlor room for my father, I'll prepare some tea for you. Father just left to visit granny Adamanta for some brunch."

"Ah," Bilbo nodded, but did not step inside through the open gate. His hands were tucked behind him and his eyes were staring down at his feet.

She finally took notice at how fine he looked, dressed in dark green coat with wood-carved acorn buttons, a fine pale dress shirt, dark brown trousers with the very end tucked in by the fine leather boots he wore. Chrysanthe couldn't help the air in her lungs escape from the way the sun illuminated Bilbo's light brown hair into a golden crown from behind him. A flush of heat came over her face, and she wanted to reach out for him, to touch his hand and not let go.

"Would you like to join me on the way to Old Took's home? I'd enjoy the company." Bilbo offered his arm, a smile on his face.

A walk through Tookburough would be lovely. The sun giving the golden autumn trees a glow that filtered through the branches, the path wide and open for many to walk about and be merry, and both Bilbo and her would welcome the cool breeze that blew by through the air.

"Yes," the young Hobbit answered. "I would love that."

Looping an arm within in his own, Chrys and Bilbo walked to Old Took's grand smial in an unhurried pace, not noticing (or caring) about the eyes watching them make their way. They talked about the books they read, laughed of what mischief they had witnessed (or had gotten involved with), and simply enjoyed the other keeping them company. The young Hobbit couldn't help in leaning closer with the older gentlehobbit, closing her eyes and imaging what it would be like if she walked hand-in-hand with this man as her suitor and husband.

Such childish fantasies most would say, but those fantasies were all she had before her Coming of Age.

* * *

Several months later, during the winter season, Chrysanthe Took and the entirety of Tookburough, along with the prominent families of the Shire, were all invited to her Coming of Age celebration.

There was music, there was tents with fire keeping the guests warm, and the feast prepared to keep the invited happy and full. Dancing and swirling and laughter, people giving cheers and well wishes to the young woman who turned seventy-years-old.

Most of all, there was many suitors who were all well dressed than most others, all prepared to make small talk with the young Hobbit of the Took family. Chrysanthe was dressed in her mother's old dress, it was maroon billowy dress with black lace stitched along the dress' necklines, and gold stitched along her sides. Being that she was born in December, the big dress was warm, and her mocassin boots kept her feet warm with thick cloth wrapped around them.

She looked absolutely radiating.

And all the young men were eager to make their acquaintance with her—but she was too preoccupied with Hobbiton's bachelor of Bag End to greet the suitors past a ' _hello_ ' and ' _good evening_ ' to them.

But what was most surprising of all was the notorious Hobbit who had rebuffed every woman looking to be courted by one Bilbo Baggins holding a bouquet of lovely flowers to the enchanting Chrysanthe. The young Hobbit happily took the arranged flowers, and never did her eyes stray from the older gentlehobbit. Their world far away to the stars and beyond from all the others standing beside the dazed pair.

It was the most outrageous scene of the century since Bullroarer battled with the Goblin King and won.

It wasn't long after the passing of the young lady's celebration when word reach through all the ears of the Shire that Bilbo Baggins was asking Chrysanthe Took's hand in marriage.


	2. Love and Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is bliss,  
> And bliss is ignorance...

The courtship was long, both families putting the couple through a series of trials to see if their feelings were completely sincere. With Chrysanthe it was no trouble, but the heart of a young maid was often said to be easily swayed, and so Bilbo was the one to receive the most heat from it all. Both Tooks and Bagginses questioned him thoroughly, and although a slight tad intimidated by the entire thing, Bilbo always came out the victor of it all.

Chrysanthe's mother and aunts worried for her, citing that she was still young and that Bilbo was much too old for her. They called her a child in love, too busy dreaming inside that fantastical head of hers, but Chrys would not be moved by such doubts.

She loved Bilbo, and Bilbo loved her in return.

With much reluctance in both families, both had no choice but to allow the union from the persistence of the two Hobbits. Under the condition that they save marriage for a few years to be absolutely sure of their decision. The couple easily agreed to the terms, not wanting to cause anymore drama than there already was between them all.

The courting with Chrys and Bilbo didn't feel all that different before, except now people could say it out loud rather keep it hushed behind closed doors. Their chaperones were not just from Chrys' family but Bilbo's as well, and the young Took woman rolled her eyes when she felt the ladies and lads of the Baggins family give not-so-subtle whispers about how Bilbo was repeating history by taking a Took woman as his wife.

The union of Bungo and Belladonna had been quite the talk during their courtship, and Chrysanthe and Bilbo couldn't help but share a smile of their own at the irony.

* * *

Of course, there was some bumps on the road.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, previously Bracegirdle in her earlier years, who had previously pursued Bilbo as a suitor, made quite a commotion when Chysanthe's chaperone, one young Baggins girl, and herself visited the Hobbiton markets. Chrys and Bilbo each took trips to visit the other from Hobbiton to Tookburough, but always accompanied by a family member to keep things from heading towards the improper (a fact which Chrysanthe remembered with an embarrassed flush from sitting down with her mother to talk about her maidenhood).

The giant scowl on Lobelia's face told her she was still bitter from being dismissed by Bilbo, looking down at Chrys from her pointy noise with much disdain, her bright blue eyes flashing with anger as she stared the younger Hobbit down. Not allowing herself to be easily cowed by the older woman, Chrys stood her ground and said nothing, letting Lobelia make a scene for everyone to talk about.

It took everything in Chrys not to shout and defend herself, biting her bottom lip to prevent words as Lobelia accused her of luring Bilbo, practically calling her a harlot to the gentlehobbit.

There was a lot of sharp looks and gasps of indignation from the much older folk around them, and just when Lobelia believed she would walk away after that last jab, the young chaperone who stood in stunned silence shot up and stepped in front of Lobelia's path when the other woman tried to make an exit.

"I suppose you think you're better than my cousin's intended?"

"I know I am." Lobelia snorted, glaring down at the other young Hobbit.

"Oh, then I guess it was nothing when I heard you talk to the Thain about evicting Bilbo from Bag End as it was a house made for large families?"

Everyone stopped, and Lobelia's eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"And I guess," the young Baggins continued. "That during your engagement with Otho that you would often visit Bilbo with sweet cakes to offer him, hoping by feeding him he would change his mind and take you on your offer of being his lovely wife?"

Lobelia choked at the accusations thrown in her face, and several gardeners who worked for the Bagginses did not look surprised, further cementing the truth. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, being the sore chit that she was, tried to go after Chrys' chaperone for her blatant words, but Otho came into the scene and was forced to carry his wife away should she dig herself in a deeper hole. The Baggins girl and Chrys watched them go before she turned to the younger girl, amazed that she came to Chrys' defense despite her being another one in the family who opposed Bilbo and Chrys' courtship.

"I don't like what's happening, but nobody talks like that to my cousin's bride-to-be. _Nobody_ , Chrysanthe."

After that, the young Baggins, Peony, along with several family members from Bilbo's side, stood tall in their effort to protect her honor from people like Lobelia who had a lot of awful things to say. The protection drew both Peony and Chrysanthe closer, the Baggins family putting a foot down from unruly guests wanted to share a gossip or two regarding Bilbo being a mad Hobbit. One Baggins elder sniffed haughtily at their guest and defended Bilbo by stating that their nephew had been following their conditions to a T, never pushing or demanding for more than he was already allowed. To accuse Bilbo of such distasteful behavior was like accusing the whole Baggins family for not having control, for being the most uncivilized bunch of the whole Shire, like they were a bunch of no good hooligan goblins.

The guests quickly learned to never speak rumors and gossip about the Tooks, the couple, or anything related to the kind. 

As much as the Bagginses were a group of no-nonsense kind, they were all ready to draw their imaginary battle axes to the tea tables if someone spoke ill of their Bilbo and his intended, something that would have made their Dwarf ancestors proud.

Six years went by. Six wonderful years of the blossoming romance between the young Took lady and master of Bag End. Their awkward and unsteady beginning weaving together a slow ease that warmed the two families.

It was actually a good decision, the entire waiting game the couple had to go through. It allowed for time of properly learning about one another, Bilbo taking the responsibility in preparing his home for another person to live with him along with Chrys taking as much lessons from her intended's family on being a proper wife to a Baggins. Belladonna Took went through a similar predicament, and she took her lessons with grace and respect. The Took men also forced Bilbo to tag along with him, seeing that they still liked to poke and prod at him for fun by taking him out hunting hares with their bows and arrows.

Bilbo tapping into his Took blood to feel the freedom most in Tookburough had whilst Chrysanthe prepared in becoming a lady in Bag Ends in the quaint village of Hobbiton.

It was all about perspective, an official from the Thain's office once told the couple on their monthly visit. It was another way to better know the experiences of the spouse, to see if there were really two strings worth tying the knot with.

After the seventh year, the families finally gave their blessing to Bilbo and allowed him to marry Chrysanthe.

A spring wedding was announced weeks later, and the months of preparation began. And all of it was happening right under the great Party Tree, the biggest and oldest thing around since the first Dwarves planted an acorn on the small field almost two thousand years ago.

The guest were so large that it almost appeared as if the whole Shire was practically invited (even Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins with her sticky fingers). From big name families to the working class, many Hobbits came from Tookburough and Buckland to see the wedding of one Bilbo Baggins and Chrysanthe Took.

Wearing a lovely slim white dress that wasn't too extravagant (to the chargrin of the Baggins ladies), Chrysanthe's hair was pulled  together in a delicate pattern with a crown of white flowers that complimented with her fair hair and pale dress. So enchanting did she appear before Bilbo that the man did nothing but stare as if in a spell before it was disrupted when his trusty gardener, Hamfast Gamgee, Bilbo's honorary best man, gently nudged the gentlehobbit back to the good green earth.

With the Baggins promising to shelter and provide for his wife, and the Took promising to help ease burdens and aid her husband, the two members of the houses were blessed by the Thain and were officially titled Mr. and Mrs. Baggins of Bag End.

The party was absolutely splendid. The Tooks wasted no effort in organizing the music and entertainment while the Baggins organized the seating arrangements and dinner. Wine and ale was spread all over, cake was cut by the newly weds and given to their main families, and the day went on like a dream that filled all with a merry event and a good feast.

That night, when the party waned and the guests began to leave, many shared well wishes and luck to the couple.

On the way to her new home, Chrysanthe paused from taking a step inside through Bilbo's gate, her eyes looking at the home that had the windows glowing from the lanterns lit inside. Bilbo stood beside, staring at his house before he turned to his wife.

"It feels like a dream, Bilbo." the young Hobbit said, her light tea brown eyes full of emotion and her chest went tight with a sense of breathlessness. "Am I dreaming?"

"Well," the older gentlehobbit smiled down at her. "I hope it is a good dream."

A small laugh erupted from Chrys, and their fingers intertwined themselves as Bilbo led her inside his new home. It was different approaching the smial, because she was not coming in as a guest or a visitor: she was coming inside Bag End as a new member to Bilbo's family.

(And, well, there was going to be more members in Bag End as soon as she turned eighty one (another condition the family wanted that the couple agreed on.)

* * *

"What on the Green Lady's good earth are you doing, Mr. Baggins?"

Bilbo straightened in his stool from behind the desk in the parlor room.

Chrysanthe, standing in a casual attire with a broom in her hand, eyes gleaming prettily from the reflection of the light coming from behind Bilbo with his back to the window. Everything about her shouted at him that she belonged right here with him, and Bilbo felt a tad bit possessive when he found himself waking up early in the mornings in bed to find Chrysanthe lying close to him, her hair glowing in the sun's bathing rays.

To put it down in rather simple terms, Bilbo felt outrageously blessed that this lovely girl who came to him for books, for his humor, for his fascination with the Elf language, his vast collection of maps, his secret scones ingredients, and his company would ever think of him in a romantic light. Chrys never spent much time inside his home, never asked about his business as a landlord, and never tried to make off with a trinket or two from his mother's collection of expensive silverware. She never wanted anything but his companionship, daring him to follow her into uncharted trails where he only hesitated but went with her after getting teased by the adventurous young woman.

He wondered if this was his father felt when getting to know his mother. Honestly speaking, he wondered sometimes if he married himself a fae than a Hobbit lady.

Giving a not so convincing smile to he beloved at the doorway, Bilbo gestured to the envelopes littered on his desk that he kept in a chest beneath his chair. He gave a quick and nervous laugh when his wife (the title still gave him pleasant chills) approached his desk with a suspicious raise of her slim brow.

“Just reading, Mrs. Baggins.”

Again, Bilbo felt searing heat rush through his veins.

"Really?" Chrys hummed as she squinted at the envelopes on the desk.

When she came close enough, Bilbo snatched her from around the waist and pulled her until she stumbled on his lap. The young wife gave a squeal of surprise and delight, laughter filling and echoing around the home as Bilbo held her close to him. Hearing her laugh was like the little bells hung above the garden shop in the main square of the Hobbiton markets, little tingles soft and almost childish.

There was never really a boring moment with his dearest Chrys.

The older gentlehobbit proceeded to give special attention to the lovely lady sitting on his lap. While warm and enticing lips busied themselves upon the lovely column of her exposed neck, Chrysanthe couldn't still forget the letters on Bilbo's desk. She noticed that her husband had become quiet as of late about the numerous envelopes he had been receiving that came all the way from Bree. She tried to ask him about it now and then, but Bilbo dismissed it and distracted her with a new topic, but the mystery surrounding her husband still lingered and it was driving her slightly mad with curiosity.

Chrys was brought back from her thoughts when a soft noise made her turn back to her husband only to meet those delicious lips of his. The meshing of her plump lips and his experience made both breathe sharply through their flared nostrils, and she could feel from the tight grip around her waist that Bilbo was barely holding back his restraint from breaking the promise he vowed to follow by the elders. There were times when Chrysanthe pushed her husband, pleading for him for a little more, but Bilbo always held fast and stopped everything before it went too far.

"I'm a Baggins, dearest. We always have to uphold our end of the bargain, and I respect your family's wishes no matter how much I want to give you more."

It was a secret she wanted to know, to taste, to feel, but Bilbo was right. Still young in marriage, she would respect the honor of her family and wait for the day of her eighty first birthday to finally be taken to his bed.

While most Hobbits waited for the marriage, there was still those out there who went farther outside of what most deemed improper and distasteful. Lads with curious and bold hands groping and feeling, and girls too impatient to wait for their future husbands that they turn to their lovers for comfort.

Chrys remembered several of her cousins doing things in the dark, their secretive whispers hushed and low so no one could hear them. She once asked them about it, but they silenced her with warning looks and told her to stick close to her family and not bother with such things. Funnily enough, one of the cousins who went on extracurricular activities in the night, and gotten married to a good gentlehobbit in Buckland, sat her down and explained to her about what to expect in the marriage bed. She already had the talk by her mother, her aunts, and her in-laws, but her cousin's informative explanation was far better.

It was a bit embarrassing to talk about it, but it was also extremely helpful. For once, most of the women said that it would be painful at first, but from what her cousin explained, it was more about feeling good to make it easier than feeling unprepared that it made it difficult. Chrysanthe took her cousin's words to heart.

Reluctantly, Bilbo pulled his lips away from her, leaning back on his chair and simply looked at her with heart eyes.

“Who are these letters from?”

“Hm?” Bilbo distractedly hummed.

“Letters, Bilbo.” Chrysanthe laughed, giving her husband a light slap on the chest to bring him back to the land of the living.

“Letters?” he mouthed before blinking back to focus and attention. “Oh. _Oh_! The letters. Yes, um—”

Peeking past her with a hasty look around his crowded desk, Bilbo spotted one letter that stood out from the rest and plucked it from the pile. Chrys blinked when the envelope's letters were seen for her eyes to read carefully.

It took the young mistress of Bag End a moment to understand that the letter appeared to be from an old family friend who had been around since Old Took had been but a little fauntling.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo's wife gasped in joy and wonder, snatching the letter and reading it. “It's been awhile since I've last heard of him!”

"He was greatly disappointed he missed our wedding, but he had other priorities to take care of." Bilbo explained as he patted his wife's waist, basking at the comfort of her closeness. "He sends his best wishes to us."

"I wish he really had come," Chrysanthe said. "His fireworks would have made the party end with a flash."

"Yes. Everyone likes to end that day with some mischief by setting off one of his fireworks inside the tents." Bilbo nodded, but let out a fit of cackling when Chrys thumped his chest again for bringing up that memory of her childhood blunders.

As she continued to read, Chrys paused a little over a few words that made her furrow her brows in confusion. There was Gandalf asking Bilbo if he had studied the maps in his collection, that he made several arrangements to some tavern at Bree, and if there was enough supplies in preparation for... whatever. The letter didn't specify the subject.

"Bilbo?"

"Yes, my dear?" Bilbo hummed.

"Why is Gandalf asking you about your maps, meetings, and what does he mean by preparation—?"

"Oh, don't mind him Chrys," Bilbo huffed as he pushed the letter away from her hands and grabbed her waist to pull her along with him to stand on their feet. "Just him and his wizard nonsense. Now, how about I prepare us supper?"

"Bilbo," Chrys quirked a brow at him. "Are you hiding something from me?

“I haven't a clue what you mean, my dear.” Bilbo replied cheekily before silencing whatever words Chrys had to say with his lips.

* * *

Bilbo's hidden agenda remained a mystery to Chrys.

It grew to a point where she tried to follow him, but the older gentlehobbit was paranoid enough to catch her and play around by saying he was visiting some friends (some of which were surprised and not at all expecting to see Bilbo visit them that it made her husband nervously laugh beside his squinty-eyed wife). Bilbo was always going for the mail in the early morning before she had a chance to get them, he was always giving abrupt announcements that he was heading out for Bree so that she had no time to prepare her things to join him therefore letting him leave alone, and Bilbo's account book where he tracked their finance had mysteriously vanished until he informed her of it being placed in the Thain's protecting in case Lobelia tried to nab it.

The whole thing was driving her mad, and she wanted answers!

But this was Bilbo! This was her husband dearest who spent seven years proving to her family was a gentlehobbit he was, and was waiting patiently for her eighty first birthday as a good man to his and her family. She knew she should have nothing to worry about, because this was just her husband being strange that maybe it was a Took thing finally sprouting out of itself in the open. Hamfast Gamgee even commented the queerness of the landlord but eased Chrysanthe that it was nothing harmful. For Green Lady's sake, it was probably nothing at all!

Maybe he was just preparing for when they had fauntlings of their own, Peony once commented shyly with a bright blush on her cheeks.

If that was the case, then why in the world was the Grey Pilgrim involved? Whatever the case, Hamfast had been right about it being nothing at all, because he knew that the master of Bag End was a good man that would never pull some sort of ill things over my head, not after everything he had done to take me as his own wife.

Chrysanthe Took had once been a girl who snooped around and put her nose through things and people's businesses until she was satisfied with what she found. But after all that's happened, and the lessons by her in-laws ingrained in her, Chrysanthe Baggins was a good, loyal, and trusting wife to her beloved, so she turned the other cheek and left Bilbo to his own privacy. Later on when Bilbo noticed her lack of prying questions about what he was planning and so forth, he was met with kisses and words of love as she never again broached the subject.

It meant a lot to Bilbo, she discovered, that she would respect him of his privacy when it was in the nature of Hobbits to be curious and nosy creatures (especially when you're a Took).

Besides, Chrys had a feeling that Bilbo would come clean to her in his own time, telling the young wife what he had been up to for the past year with the letters and spending some time with maps and going on short trips to Bree. She would wait for him.

… but that day never came after the Shire experienced the Fell Winter.


	3. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world goes on and on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change of pov because third person isn't my forte.

_“Don't leave me! Don't you dare—“_

_“Hah! What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere!”_

_"Please, please, please...”_

  _"I'm just... going on an adventure.”_

* * *

A gasp escaped my lips before my eyes snapped open and my body jerked into sitting up from the bed. Awareness followed afterwards, and I looked around frantically with a strangle cry escaping as I tried to form words to tell Bilbo that—

But the bed was empty. It was cold, and the side of the bed remained largely untouched with no sign of the person ever being there the night before I went to bed. No other warm body to keep me company, sleeping under the quilt or staying awake long enough to whisper stories into my ears until slumber took me to the dreamscape of my mind.

Our bed—my bed, it was _mine now_ —was just another constant reminder that I was going to continue waking up alone.

For seven years I went through a beautiful courtship that tested both our mettle's and wits until we both stood before Hobbiton and our families with the Thain blessing us, the next three years spent together in Bag End getting accustomed with living together and making a most comfortable routine... and now, I was spending another three years alone without Bilbo by my side.

Staring at the half empty bed was not going to start my day, so I began to drag the covers off my lap and sat on the edge. Drawing a bath and washing my teeth with powder and a small strip of rough linen to clean them with before chewing on mint to take away the morning breath. Bilbo used to try and kiss me as he woke up, leaving me shrieking in horror at the horrid breath as he chased me into the bathroom. I shook my head, letting the memory fade quickly in the back of my mind as I spat out the mint and power then turned to my steaming bath.

Today was going to be another long day, whether I wished for it or not.

Washing myself and cleansing my hair until my fingers and toes began to prune, I climbed out, drained the water and dried myself with a large towel and headed back inside the room to pull on my clothes for the day. It was a little dull-looking but still proper enough in appearance, with my leather boots and bonnet placed to the side as I dressed myself. Yesterday I found the cellar a little more empty, and the few people who visited commented that they worried for me not eating enough. Gentiana Baggins, gentle old woman that she was, often asked if I was forgetting to eat now and then because I was so busy taking care of Bilbo's account books for the people on Bagshot Row.

I just pulled on a smile and said everything was alright.

The answer she was looking for, however, remained unspoken.

Stepping outside of the round door, I was met with the beautiful sight of bountiful rolling green hills that stretched itself across the land as far as the eye could see. Living most of my life the Shire you would think you'd get bored by the sight after so many years, but still nothing stopped me from admiring the green land.

Everyone was out and about down in Bagshot Row, the working class Hobbits preparing for another day to go out and fix gardens for their clients, tend to the farm animals they owned in the barns out in the fields, and reap the crops grown out. There was the sound of children's laughter carried by the wind, and I closed my eyes for a moment before opening them and pulling up my shopping basket and climbing down the steps of my small lawn.

It was late in the morning, so I was up in time for second breakfast, but I thought to wait for much later as I was heading down to the Markets to gather ingredients as I was out of it.

And as I crossed over the Bywater bridge, I wondered if maybe I should make a list to give to Hamfast for him to gather up more stocks of food in order to appease the worried relatives that often sent plates of biscuits, steaming pork fresh out of the oven, and a box of various tea bags. Because Tookburough was all the way out in West Farthing, I couldn't see much of my own mother, father, or sisters, and it was probably for the best as they would be badgering moreso than the Bagginses.

Yes, I should probably get a list ready for Hamfast to read and gather all on the list in a cart to deliver to Bag End.

The bustling of the crowds in the market felt as though it had gone unchanged and unhindered after the event from three years ago. While everyone around me was in high spirits with loud chatter surrounding the area, I was quiet and kept to myself.

There was dark times when I wished for the sky to turn black and for the bright flowers to die, if only to match the mood I was in. Because how could the world and the people move on like nothing happened? How did people find it in themselves to not look back? It was my grief talking, it was always about the loss, and I knew I wasn't the only one, but those that did lose someone always found a way to pick themselves back up.

Just as I was picking a fresh batch of potatoes and a bottle of sage, I cringed at the sound of a dreadfully familiar voice.

"Well, well! Mrs. Baggins graces us with her presence!"

Slowly, I turned towards the other woman standing not too far from me. Dressed in a new attire made of entirely expensive fabric dyed in varying shades of yellow that it literally hurt just looking at it. On top of her neatly bounded hair of dark curls was a big hat with flowers decorated around the band, and her boots look shiny and clean like they had been bought yesterday (something which I had no doubt Lobelia did). All in all, Lobelia looked honestly beautiful and confident in herself, unlike me who was dressed a bit plainly and with little life to be found in my gloomy face.

"You look lovely, Lobelia." I greeted her, turning back to pay for the sage bottle. "How have you and Otho been?"

Lobelia was a little easy to flatter, kind words here and she would stand a little taller with a smug look on her face. She twirled the dress around, show casing it to the rest of the Hobbits who would sometimes stop and look, but otherwise move on when they realized who exactly the wearer of the bright sunny dress was.

"Otho was in such a good mood after successfully creating a trade route for faster travels from the Shire and Ered Luin. He bought me the dress he saw on the way home, it's a new collection from Pippa Hornblower. She's my favorite seamstress of all the Shire!"

Pippa Hornblower, formerly a Brandybuck, moved further into West Farther past the forest of Tookburough with her husband who worked as a Watchman of the border. Being that she was a Brandybuck whose family also watched the borders in East Farthing past the Brandywine River, practically Buckland territory, the seamstress would know a thing or two to tell her husband when it came to guarding the Shire's territory. After what happened, security on all the Shire's border grew to new heights that there was some talk of making a wall if only to prevent a repeat.

"Chrys? Chrys!"

"Sorry!" I blinked back to attention from my thoughts. "You were saying?"

"I was saying you should let me send a commission letter to Mrs. Hornblower. I'd be more than happy to send for a new dress to add in your wardrobe."

The backhanded compliment made me internally sigh. The subtle insult from my lack of flair in clothing was nothing that would get me to rise to her bait. Some time ago that would have worked me into a tizzy from her teasing, but now I just felt exhausted and my words wasted on nothing but our insult bantering ways.

“It's comfortable. Actually easier to breathe in properly.” I told the older woman while eyeing her uncomfortably tight waist.

Bilbo never liked those type of dresses, told me they looked dreadfully uncomfortable that he only wished for me to dress as I pleased with no harm done to my waist.

"Have you been eating much lately?" Lobelia asked, changing the subject.

"I was thinking of stocking up my pantry today. I'll have Mr. Gamgee go and gather them later on after lunch."

"Mm." the other woman nodded as she joined me on the walk back to Bag End. "Last time I was there, you barely had one shelf full."

"Yes." I replied. "It was just me after all. Who else was going to join me?"

There was a pause.

"That's something I wanted to talk to you about."

I didn't bother to hide my tired sigh this time, a conversation that's been floating around as of late. I hated talking about it, and I always walked away from the table when it was presented to me, but Lobelia, being bold with her mind and words as always, did not cow easily when I turned my cold eyes towards her.

"You can't expect to keep Bag End all by yourself!" Lobelia snapped at me. "That smial was made for large families. It was troublesome enough that he had it all to himself in the beginning, but then he married you and still nothing—"

"I was seventy seven years old, Lobelia!" I hissed at her. "Bilbo would not have me until my eighty first! He respected everyone's wishes, and I was willing to wait!"

"And what are you waiting for now, Chrysanthe?"

My mouth snapped shut, eyes wide with shock at her unintended cruel words, but before I could wrangle back the feelings, they were quickly thrown out before I could get a proper hold of them. The blurring of my vision blinded me until I blinked, releasing the floodgate of tears as they fell down my cheeks. I quickly turned away from her, making sure to keep my face hidden away from others, and made my way across the Bywater bridge. A handkerchief made its way to me, and although I wanted to slap it away in anger, I took it from Lobelia and tried my best to wipe away the evidence of my meltdown.

Slowly coming back to a calm sense of myself that wouldn't result in dropping my collection so I could collapse and sob out loud (I did enough of that for the past couple years), I gathered myself. Spying Lobelia standing close to me, she was positioned so that no one could see past her to find my flushed and tear-stained face. As awful of a character as she was, Lobelia knew that when it came to wanting space and privacy from prying eyes she would grant it. There was plenty times when I had done the same for in several occasions, sparing her from embarrassment when she came close to causing another scene in public.

It was from this gesture of slight kindness, and the emotions swirling inside of me, that I found myself opening up to her.

"I would give anything to have a piece of him with me," I whispered to her, like sharing a secret for Lobelia's sharp ears only. "Not a day goes by when I don't wonder what could have been had we not waited as our family wanted us to."

For once, Lobelia had nothing to say.

"I could only imagine if we would have a girl who had Bilbo's eyes and smile, or i-if we had a son who would drive me mad from his trouble-making. And then I would wonder how many children we could have had together. Would they be polite or adventurous? Would they be loud or quiet? Would they be all of that or more?" I wiped more tears away as they spilled freely down my face. "I wanted to fill Bag End with noise and laughter. I wanted to yell at our children for being pests to their father because he's trying to work on account, but Bilbo would probably just smile and lift them up to his lap. I want to hold them when they cry and whisper promises of safety when they have nightmares or when they've been foolish that they hurt themselves."

"Chrys..."

"I wanted to stitch their clothes. I wanted to teach them some games I had played when I was young. I wanted to listen to Bilbo as he told them stories by the hearth, all of us warm and full after a good supper meal."

The older Hobbit lady could do nothing but guide me back home in silence as I let my tears fall. Lobelia was the last person I wanted to share this with, but she wasn't my family nor was she my in-law, and somehow it made it easier to tell her things without expecting to be coddled like I knew others would have. It was like removing a bit of weight from my shoulders after this little confession, but still my heart hurt from walking up to the steps of Bag End where it was empty and lifeless.

Just like the Fell Winter from three years ago had been. Trees dead, gardens buried beneath the ice, homes barricaded by the frost, and the Brandywine River frozen hard enough that it served as a foothold to unwelcome visitors in our land.

It was a most trying time for all of the Shire, but somehow everyone pulled through it. Well, most of everyone.

After Lobelia left me after making sure I entered my home without trouble, I sat down in the parlor room and just stared at Belladonna, Bungo, and most recently, Bilbo's portraits hanging over the fireplace. Calming myself, I got a piece of paper and writing pen to begin the list to stock up the pantry to fullness. No matter how much it hurt, I needed to move on. Besides, when I really thought about Lobelia's words, it made sense.

Bag End was made for a bigger family. There was several large guest rooms that could have served as nursery's if there was little children involved.

As much as I hated to admit, Lobelia was right. I had to give up mine and Bilbo's home, make arrangements to hand it over to a relative of Bilbo's as they are the main family in Hobbiton. There was Lutho Baggins who was starting a fresh family with his wife, Bonnie (a good lass). I would send a letter to the Thain's office to discuss the matters, but for now, I just wanted to hold onto this home a little longer before I thought about letting someone have it.

Now, to the list.

* * *

Hamfast Gamgee, loyal and reliable, had went off with the promise to have the cart full of supplies delivered before the sun went down. The Hobbit was attentive as ever after Bilbo's passing, and he felt responsible in looking after the widow. His wife, Bell, was always coming over to Bag End to offer up cooking something when the Bagginses were caught up with their own businesses and families.

They were the kind of caring loyal couple that made me look at them with envy.

As I waited for the return of my gardener, I went ahead and went to work on the garden. It kept my focused and my hands busy as I passed time for the Gaffer to return with my list of supplies, my coins given to the trusty gardener to spend on purchasing what I wanted stocked in the pantry.

I should probably invite Peony and Bonnie over, maybe approach the latter woman about wanting to give away the home to her and her husband for their family. Bonnie, formerly Proudfoot, wanted to move away from the borderlands of the Shire but her home was not in Hobbiton, something that she said once or twice in passing that she wanted. The cost of new smial built in Hobbiton was a bit expensive, even for a Baggins like Lutho. After all, Lutho may be from a high respected family, but he was more like a distant cousin of them. Giving the deeds of Bag End over to the good Hobbit would give him a place of good standing and appease Bonnie by placing her right smack dab in the middle of it.

The memory of Bilbo, dressed in a blue coat, a green ascot, a fine vest with walnut-shaped buttons, and his leather boots with stitched engraving of vines as he led her me out of the smial to visit Drogo and Primula, another pair of newlyweds.

I forced myself to banish those thoughts once again, looking to the small garden tools to find the small bags of flower seeds tucked away somewhere inside.

Just as I was beginning to plant them in the soft soil, a shadow appeared over my form, blocking the sun. It couldn't have been a cloud, there was nothing in the sky but the sun, and even if it was, it wasn't moving along to bring back the bright rays.

The sound of shuffling robes and a cough from behind alerted me that someone was standing outside the picket fence of the lawn. I shot to my feet and whirled around to face the visitor, but I stood stock still with my mouth gaping open like a fish as I took in the sight of the person standing before me. It was a very tall Man, old with his hair graying and his eyes glazing with experience and wisdom. My stunned appearance prompted the older gentleman to speak up after a pregnant pause.

"I know it has been awhile my dearest since you last saw me, but if you cannot recall my face then allow me to introduce myself. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means _me_."

Childhood memories of the nights full of exploding brightness, like falling stars that shimmered out of existence, colorful fireflies whizzing by and escaping my hands as I gave chase. My father holding me up in the air on his shoulders as we watched a tall man in gray robes and a staff light up a huge one and how it tore into the sky before it exploded into a fountain of colorful birds. And the towering Wizard would disappear the morning after, promises to return with another set of extravagant entertainment for the next birthday event.

“Gandalf the Wandering Wizard,” a smile spread itself across my face, a genuine one that was not forced for once after so long. “ _Gandalf_!”

The old Wizard's face crinkled as a smile formed from beneath his wild beard, a hearty laugh escaping that it sent nothing but warmth in me. Nostalgia of sweet times returning like an old friend, a dear old friend who had been gone for too long.

"Where have you been, Gandalf?" I asked, moving to allow him entry through the small gates. "I haven't heard from you for quite some time!"

"Oh, I've been busy with my own dealings of the world, dear Chrysanthe." Gandalf stated as he entered through the gates.

"Here, come inside. Let me get you a cup of tea." I said as I ushered the Wizard inside the smial.

Gandalf ducked his head through the round door and I was quick to warm him about the chandelier hanging over his head, along with the wood beams to avoid getting a bump and bruise from the trouble. Taking his pointy hat, cloak, and wooden staff, I placed them in a coat rack and a nearby umbrella holder before rushing to the kitchen to prepare tea and tart biscuits. The older Wizard took his time to reach the kitchen, eyes scanning the parlor room before pausing when they landed on portraits of the wall, mainly on Bilbo's.

Too lost in my grief was I not able to send a letter to inform Gandalf of Bilbo's death, and he had to learn of the awful news when he was in Buckland. Since then, the old Wizard disappeared elsewhere in the wide world. It was awful, not being able to tell the old man myself of the news, but I was far away and not in the right state of mind. The Wizard finally pulled away from the fireplace and joined me inside the kitchen, settling down on a bench of the table and smiling when a warm cup of tea was placed before him. A plate of tart biscuits was pushed into his direction, and the Wizard gladly took one.

"Thank you, my dear."

"So," I began as I sat down from across the tall elderly. "What brings you all the way to the Shire?"

"I'm glad you asked, Mrs. Baggins," Gandalf said as he paused from speaking to finish his tea. "I did not come back to celebrate a party, nor did I come inside to speak of old times long past us both, no matter how painful it is to me and you especially."

There was a short pause for me to register what he was saying before the confusion began to settle with my brows furrowing and my face scrunching slightly. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Gandalf laced his fingers together on the table, eyes bright as he said, "I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Like any Took, or highly curious Hobbits that wondered about what life was like beyond the Shire (and those who came from Bree looked to the Great Road), and I was no different than any of my clansmen. I remembered clutching to my mother's skirts or sitting on my father's lap, and even the rare occasion when I was gardening with Belladonna, and I would always ask them about what really went on with the rest of the world. After all, we could only learn some from books, maps, and talks from passing travelers, but Hobbits never interfered with the business of outsiders (a trait we also inherited by our ancient Dwarven ancestors).

Mother talked of tales about the Elves inhabiting great forest kingdoms, their very presence like luminescent stars hidden amongst the trees and ivory homes they built for themselves. Father talked about the dangers of the outside, the goblins and orcs that haunt the lands, and would often times spook me and my siblings with tales of a great darkness that threatened to swallow the land before a brave king put an end to it. Belladonna, however, talked about the many people of all races together and thriving while fighting and adventuring off into the distance with courage and ideal thoughts in them.

I wanted to go on adventure, I once told Bilbo. I want to go out there and see the world just once. I didn't want to travel all the way to Bree and then turn back, I really wanted to step out of the comforts of our territory and actually explore the far corners of Middle-Earth to see with my own eyes if my family and Belladonna's imagination were true.

But that was a long time ago.

"No. No," I shook my head, leaning away from the elderly. "I, look, I don't understand what you're saying—"

"I'm saying that this will be very good for you!" the old Wizard stood up, but remained careful enough not to bump his head to the wood beams above. "And most amusing for me."

" _Excuse_ _me_?!" I blinked up at him in surprise. "Good for me? Gandalf, I will not be a part of whatever plans you have for me! I am a Baggins of Bag End!"

"I shall inform the others!" the Wizard hollered over his shoulder as he made for the entrance, but I was not letting him get away with the last word.

"Gandalf!" I cried out as I reached the open door, watching him leave through the gates, all dressed up in his cloak and hat, his staff returned to his side. "We do not want _any_ adventures here!"

Still the Wizard continued off onto the trail, politely passing a few gawking Hobbits. I wanted to run after the blasted elderly, but what difference would it make?

"Mrs. Baggins?"

I jerked in surprise, and I looked to the corner to find Hamfast standing awkwardly a little way out of my line of vision when I had been too busy watching the Wizard go off in a flurry that left me absolutely dumbfounded. Beside the Gamgee was a cart of the stock I wanted in the pantry, and I let out a tired sigh as I gave Gandalf's distant form one last glare before turning towards Hamfast to let him in and help put the food inside.

Hopefully this funny business with adventures would never come up again.


	4. Expect the Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most unexpected meeting in the good night...

I still could not bring myself to forget that bizarre exchange with Gandalf the Gray.

Often I found myself looking out the windows, expecting to see his pointy hat approaching Bag End with whatever schemes he had planned for me, but there was not a sight nor sound from the lanky elderly that came and went earlier that day. I even went so far as to go back to the Markets, browsing a few items and having a few talks with the locals, simply busying myself with trivial things while also keeping one eye out for the tall elderly, but still nothing came up with him.

The sun was beginning to set beyond the lumpy hills in the distance, casting a welcoming dark blue that followed after the fading orange and red lights of the falling sun. Stars slowly shining into existence the darker the sky grew, and all the little smials lit their hearths and lanterns like frozen fireflies scattered across the dark valley. Giving up on the search for the pesky Wizard that taunted my mind, I headed back home to cook myself a nice warm meal and prepare for bed. The long day had surprisingly tired me out, and I drew a quick bath to clean myself.

The sweat, gardening, and Lobelia's perfume needed to be washed away, and I made it my work in covering nearly my entire body in soap buds then tended to my hair scented oils that made it easier for me to comb through my hair and sooth the tangles and knots. With a few dunks under the warm bath water, I climbed out of the tub and began to dry myself whilst pulling a plug to let the water drain down. The warm fire lit inside the bathroom that provided both light and warmth made drying faster.

Dressed in a sleeping gown with Bilbo's patched robe pulled over my shoulders, I made dinner that consisted of a small pile of scones, fish with a speckle of spices and dash of lemon, and a small pot of meat pie straight out of Gentiana's recipe book. It took awhile for the old hawk to give away her family secret to me, it also helped that Bilbo was her favorite.

It was surprising how much I got away with a few recipes from the Baggins whilst Bilbo endeared himself to them like a snake charmer. We sometimes made a game out of it, Bilbo and I, and those times made me smiled brightly. 

_**ririinng!** _

My hand froze in mid-reach for the utensils, and I looked towards the direction of Bag End's entrance.

 _'Did I actually hear that right?'_ I wondered.

Sure enough, there was another ringing of the doorbell.

It had to be Gandalf.

Quickly wiping my hands on a nearby apron, I closed my robe and slipped on my house flats before heading towards the door, prepared to give Gandalf a good tongue-lashing for his abrupt departure after leaving me frazzled without explanation. Honestly, it was like Bilbo and his secretive ways when he tried to hide something from me (a mystery that still remained just that, a blood mystery!), so I did not hesitate in unlatching the door as a third ringing of the doorbell sounded. I started to speak just as I swung it open.

"Alright Gandalf, it's time you explained yourself on what in Green Lady were you going on abou—"

That was not a Wizard standing outside on my doorstep.

A Dwarf.

A large, bulky, brutish-looking Dwarf with tattoos littering nearly all over his bald scalp, standing outside with a fierce look upon his heavily bearded face, and all I could do was stand there and stare in awe while feeling a healthy dose of intimidation. It was like something right out of Bilbo's library books, reading out loud for me as we both settled down for bed. Some books ranged from the elegant Elves that lingered in the harbor of the Gray Havens to the hardy Dwarves that once mined in the ancient ruins of Moria.

There was the rare Dwarf that came through the Shire, making small business for a short time to smithy work for the Hobbits citizens, selling intricate jewelry for the wives and young ladies, fixing a few broken items to the owner's liking, or even doing a few commission work. Sadly, I never got a chance to actually meet once face-to-face... until now.

The stunned silence was then broken when the Dwarf shifted his feet, and I blinked back to awareness while internally cursing at myself for staring so blatantly at the broad fellow. The Dwarf proceeded to give a small bow, our eyes locked on one another, and there was a feeling of wariness ebbing off him. I suppose he was a little wary of me as I was of him, except that he was exceedingly good at hiding it with his scarred face.

"Dwalin," the Dwarf's voice, I surprisingly found, was rough and thick. "At your service."

He was like a living stone carved off the side of the mountain he was born and bred from, rough all over and rocky like an avalanche with his rolling vowels as he spoke. This was the race described from texts. This was the race where mine had come from. Aulë's children were the antithesis of Yavanna's. Two sides of the same coin some would say.

Unknowing of what to do, I offered an awkward curtsy of my own to the Dwarf, not sure if this was the proper custom in their culture. "Chrysanthe Baggins, at yours." 

With that sad little introduction (if one could call it that), the Dwarf—Dwalin as he was called—stepped inside the foyer of the smial. I could not stop myself in grimacing when I looked down and saw his dusty boots stomping on the clean carpet floors. Imagining Bilbo kicking up a fuss at the mess popped readily in my mind, my husband floundering about as he tried to interrogate the intruding Dwarf... like I should probably be doing, or maybe call out for some much needed assistance.

Dwalin the Dwarf began to wander a bit that I abandoned the front door, letting it swing close despite my reluctance to be alone with the gruff-looking fellow. The Dwarf removed his cloak and threw it at the coat rack where it caught the fabric easily, and I stopped as I actually took in his attire. Dressed in heavy fur wrapped around his shoulders, making him appear more broader. A dark tunic with geometric shapes printed on the fabric was wrapped by a leather belt with a great metal buckle keeping it tight around his waist, some leather straps held together across his chest, and what looked to be skeletal gauntlets over his thick hands (also tattooed). Everything about Dwalin screamed at me of a hardy experience, both in life and in the battlefield (and looked a lot more of the latter than the former if the scars were anything to go by).

And he was standing inside my home rather than mining away in a mountain of his own.

Not only that, I failed to see just how my race and I came from these cousins of ours. Beside the similar size and lifespan we shared, I could not see anything that was in common with the older Dwarf.

"Where's the food, lassie?" Dwalin asked after having scanned the entrance hallway. "I traveled a long way an' I was told there would be food. An' lots of it."

Before I even had a chance to question, to demand, to say bloody  _something_ , the Dwarf was already on the move again. He followed the scent of my cooked dinner, and I stumbled like a silly tween until I went after Dwalin.

"Y-your visit is most unexpected, Master Dwalin!" I said. "And what do you mean you were told?"

And oh my goodness, there was small axes and daggers tucked away in his person! How in the world did I miss that?! The dark tunic, leather straps, and fur were good at distracting my eyes to keep me from finding the weapons hidden away, and I couldn't help but feel impressed with Dwalin.

"I was jus' told, lassie. He simply said to show up at your door." the Dwarf explained gruffly before making himself comfortable at the abandoned kitchen table while eyeing my plate I had left in order to answer the door.

“ _He_ said?” I scrunched my face in confusion. “ _Who_ said?”

I never got my answer because Dwalin helped himself to my lonely plate that was sitting there looking  absolutely delicious, thinking that it was for his to eat. I just gawked, eyes wide and mouth open for the flies to come in and out. The _audacity_...! And inside my own home, too! But I couldn't bring myself to yell at him, still worried that he might put those daggers and axes of his to use should he not find my lecture of manners to be of great inconvenience between him and his appetite. I was only grateful that there was at least some honey biscuits for me to nibble on later, but I was seriously beginning to doubt that when the Dwarf pawed at the pile, stuffing his face that left his beard covered in tiny crumples.

 _'Might as well give him something to drink, Chrys,'_ I huffed as I moved to grab a tankard from the cupboard and went to the ale barrel. 

Filling it to the brim, I returned to the kitchen and I felt amazed at how quickly he almost scraped the entire plate. I couldn't help but smile a little when he avoided the small cut pieces of cabbage on my plate, like some sort of plague he didn't want to be touching (or a youngling turning his nose, unwilling to eat the greens he was served). The tankard barely touched the table when the great paws that were Dwalin's hands took the handle and chugged the drink down.

"Very good, this." Dwalin complimented after he drained most of the contents of his pint.

"I..." I trailed off, but from the dark eyes watching me, I found my voice again. "I'm confused. I was not expecting company... well, that's not entirely true."

I was sort of expecting a tall, lanky man with a pointy hat and a nose for meddling into people's business to be crouching in front of my door. Informing the Dwarf of this mistake, however, somehow proved to be a difficult task.

"Spit it out, lassie." the Dwarf glowered, munching on more of my honey biscuits.

Just as I was about to ask Dwalin why he was here, what was the purpose of it, and if Gandalf had anything to do with this given what the Wizard had said before his departure, I was stopped when the doorbell rang ominously. Time stood still for a brief moment until Dwalin gave an obnoxiously loud crunch on a sliced piece of my meat pie, eyes glaring at me once more.

"That'll be the door."

"Yes," I agreed uneasily, moving towards the entrance. "Of course. Excuse me."

Once again, when I opened the door, there was no Wizard standing on the other side.

Another Dwarf.

This one, however, was far different from Dwalin. For one, he wasn't fierce-looking, rather he looked like an elderly relative from my family but bore a long and thick beard that swirled to two ends. His hair was just as pale, showing how very well old he was, and a little more wider than the first Dwarf, yet standing at my height. There was scars on his forehead, but not so excessively as Dwalin's, rather this old Dwarf's scars had faded lightly and were a wee bit smaller. His kindly expression eased the tension almost immediately when we locked eyes, like his very presence assured everything was right and calm, an air of a successful diplomat. It was almost as if I was with Old Took, sitting next to him as a puppet theater played to entertain the children and the elderly.

The Dwarf was dressed in red dark red robes with faint geometric patterns, much like Dwalin's tunic, and baring now skin elsewhere besides his exposed face. The first Dwarf had no such problem showing off his scarred forearms that were thick with muscles and girth. The old Dwarf wore black gloves, dark trousers that were tucked inside boots which also had curled tips at the end just exactly like his white beard.

And just like Dwalin, the old Dwarf gave a polite bow with his arms spread.

"Balin! At your service."

Again, I just stood there like an awkward pumpkin before a crowd of inspecting buyers during the seasonal shopping for holiday meals, my voice quiet and shy as I returned the greeting. 

"Good evening."

"Yes. Yes, it is." the elderly agreed as he scanned the dark skies then stepped through the open doorway. "Though I think it might rain later."

Curious, I found myself looking past the Dwarf—Balin, he said—to search for any signs of incoming dark clouds.

"Am I late?" Balin asked suddenly, looking a bit anxious, his dark eyes squinting.

My brows furrowed, not quite understanding the question. "Late for what exactly, Master Balin?"

Those eyes of his shifted over my shoulder where his face immediately drew up in elation, a pleased cry escaping past his lips. Startled, I looked back to find Dwalin, standing in the middle of the parlor room with his paw-like hand jammed inside a glass jars where I kept some cookies encased for visitors joining me for a cup of afternoon tea. Dwalin's head sharply looked towards us, and Balin playfully strode past me and towards the taller Dwarf with a cackle trailing after him. This was just too much, I blinked a few times and wondered if maybe I was dreaming this. Had I fallen asleep in the smoking room on my armchair after reading from one of the books pertaining to mean-looking Dwarf warriors?

"Evening brother," Balin spoke.

The words made me choke on my own spit, my eyes popping out of their sockets.  _'Brother?!'_

That gentle-looking old Dwarf was related to that ruffian?!

“ _Ho_ , _ho_ ~! By my beard. You're shorter and wider than last we met!” Dwalin, to my utter shock, drew a smile so pleasant that I was astounded that there was actually another side of his emotions beside tough, gruff, and buff.

“Wider, not shorter!” Balin corrected the taller sibling. “Sharp enough for both of us.”

The two then made a move as if to embrace, hands clasping each other's arms, but then they suddenly stopped. The next action made me jump on my feet as they abruptly butted heads together with a cracking sound that made me want to shout in surprise, but the two did not appear to fall in agony of the action, devolving into nostalgic chatter between two Dwarf brothers. It just goes to show the widening gap between my kind and theirs. As Dwalin led Balin to the pantry, I knew then that it was time for me to put my foot down because this, I realized with growing clarity, was escalating rather quickly into something I knew I wanted no part in. Gandalf was the culprit behind this, and my blood boiled at the thought that he was sending these bizarre travelers my way without reason or explanation other than his mention of adventure.

Having Dwarves joining me for a meal was quite the adventure indeed, and one I didn't plan on repeating so long as I lived and breathed!

They were probably in the wrong house, I thought. Surely there was other Hobbits that they were probably ~~unlikely~~  friends with? I wouldn't put it past my own family to do something as outlandish as inviting Dwarves to their estate back in West Farthing, as it was quite close to Ered Luin. Old Took, when he had been younger and had carried the title of the Thain, along with several other Hobbit officials of his office, met with a whole herd of them when they had come down from the far East. A series of tragedies had occurred to the Dwarves, and with no place to go to, Old Took took pity and pointed towards the Blue Mountains. The Shire gave their crops, supplies, and spare clothes and watched them march off towards the mountains, and since then we developed a good relation with them by offering goods and allowing permission for them to do merchant business in the Shire.

It was written in the fate of all Tooks born in the family to find themselves thrown into the unexpected without warning.

The two Dwarves were going through the pantry, inspecting the newly stocked shelves of fruits, vegetation, beef, pork, lamb, wine bottles, cakes, jams, various cheese flavors, and other assorted consumables stacked away inside. Dwalin went for the ale barrel, filling his tankard for himself and his brother, both siblings remarking about what various choices they want to start dining upon whilst I stood outside the pantry doors rambling nervously.

"Excuse me, Master Dwarves, but I do believe you've come to the wrong house!"

"Have you eaten?"

"I'm sure there is a mistake in the directions you were given. Is someone looking for you both—?"

"What is this?" Dwalin wondered out loud as he saw his brother curiously inspect a small block of blue cheese.

"I don't know. I think it's cheese. Gone blue." Balin replied.

"—and maybe if you gave me some names or addresses, I would be more than happy to give you a map to help along the way. In fact, I can even point you into the right direction if you're, most likely, expected elsewhere—"

"It's riddled with mold."

The small block of cheese flew past my head, and I watched it sail over until it landed on the floor, looking sadly unwanted.

"—I don't mean to sound like a rude host to you both, but I had to speak my mind." I inhaled a huge breath and exhaled when I finished my explanation with an apology. "I'm sorry."

All movement ceased and the two brothers finally paused in their commentary to spare me blank looks. I waited for their response, my hands tucked behind me.

Whatever I was expecting (more like hoping for the two to stop what they were doing, drop my food, and neatly leave the premises of my property whilst they apologized for wrongly intruding my home under the assumption that this had been the right address), the next words from the white-haired Dwarf were not it.

"Apology accepted." Balin chirped, and I stared at him.

Forget what I thought about Balin being the opposite of his ferocious brother with his grandfatherly appearance that had me fall for it, the old coot was just as audacious as Dwalin. I glared at the back of their heads as they continued to scrounge around the pantry like scavengers (or like the Sackville-Bagginses with their equally sticky fingers).

And then that's when the doorbell rang again...

“Oh, dear Lady Yavanna...” I whispered lowly in growing horror.

With prompting from Dwalin's scarred face, I went to the door to allow entry who I knew would not be a wayward Wizard standing on the other side.

When I opened the door, I nearly swallowed my tongue and choked to death on it. Standing together at my doorstep were two Dwarves; two young and dashing Dwarves at that!

The first noticeable one had fair hair a few shades darker than my own that fell like a mane around him, four sections of hair which were in braids. He wore a pleasant smile beneath his short beard which, I noticed, had two tiny braids that were of his mustache. Like Dwalin, the fair-haired green hazel-eyed Dwarf had a collar of fur that almost reached to the middle section of his brown coat which covered his light brown tunic that was tucked underneath the outer. Fingerless gloves and, again like Dwalin, small knives found here and there nearly all over his coat, arms, and most likely his leather boots, I was beginning to wonder if I should say something about inhibiting weapons inside my home. The next Dwarf to my surprise barely had a beard, and that spoke of how young the dark-haired one was. With a short sleeved gray tench coat, and the blue tunic he wore underneath, I spotted the long belt wrapped across his chest which led to a quiver and bow strapped securely to his back. An archer.

Both Dwarves, I noticed, were both smiling brightly at me, a pair of hazel and earth brown eyes gleaming so familiarly to me that I was instantly wary. I had seen that look on my siblings, cousins, and other Took kinsman. For Eru's sake, I even seen it in the mirror!

These two had a streak of no good deeds a mile wide!

"Fíli," the fair-haired Dwarf introduced himself, his voice low and somewhat raspy.

"And Kíli," the dark-haired one finished, dark eyes roving over my form that I folded my arms over my robe, just realizing how under dressed I currently was.

Goodness, the whole time I was running around in my night gown!

"At your service!" both bowed, just like the elder Dwarves inside my smial. Except the part where two big hands reached for my own smaller ones and pulled them so that the young men would press a kiss upon the back of my palm.

After I stole my hands back, embarrassed, the two stood straight up with matching grins on their handsome faces.

"You must be Mrs. Boggins!"

The mention of my name (no matter how incorrect it came out) made me immediately try to shut the door in their faces and lock the bolt tight! I had enough of Dwarves stomping down the hallways in their dirty fur and leather boots, I had enough of them rudely going through my stalls, and I would be a fool if I allowed anymore inside Bag End. My efforts were fruitless as the younger Dwarf—Kíli—stopped the whole thing with just one hand.

"I believe you've come to the wrong place!" I cried, pushing at the door to force it closed. "Please try somewhere else!"

"What? Are you saying it's been cancelled?!"

"No one told us."

I opened my mouth to correct them and probably tell them to buck off elsewhere because I was losing my patience, but the young Dwarves went on before I could get a word out.

"At least give us a map, ma'am!"

"Or if you can, a drink! We hear Hobbit folk are quite kind and generous, and we traveled a long way from the Blue Mountains."

"Are you sending us away because we scare you?"

"You shouldn't be scared, ma'am. I'll protect you from this one here, but I promise you he's practically harmless."

" _Oi_! Quiet you!"

"Hush now, don't startle the lovely lady here, little brother."

"Do you have a name, ma'am?"

Their persistence was beginning to grate my nerves that I was prepared to do something drastic when I was suddenly plucked up, letting out a small shriek of surprise before I was promptly settled down somewhere away from the door. Dwalin, who was the culprit behind picking me up like an unruly cat, allowed the two Dwarves entry who straightened up from leaning against the door.

"Mr. Dwalin!" they greeted cheerily as the door closed behind them.

"Don't start with harassing the hostess, you two!" Dwalin glared down at the youths Fíli and Kíli, both of them looking chastised by the slight bow of their heads and the flush of redness on the dark-haired Dwarf's ears. "Now set your things down and help us old men move the furniture."

"Move the furniture?!" I repeated, following after Dwalin whilst the two boys unstrapped their weapons and coats. "You can't possibly—"

"Rest assured, good lady," Fíli materialized beside me, resting a thick hand on my shoulder. "We Dwarves are good at balancing, so there is no need to worry about the possibility of us destroying any valued goods you hold in your home."

I did not think about that until now. I had been more concerned that they were up to something, but then this fool went ahead and put that idea in my head, further increasing my anxiety.

"As he says, ma'am!" Kíli appeared from the opposite of his brother, grinning cheekily down at me. "We wouldn't be Dwarves if we actually dropped something important! We're known to balance chairs at the tip of our noses since we all could learn to walk!"

That was  _not_ reassuring!

"Fíli! Kíli!" Dwalin growled from the dining room where I spotted Balin moving a shelf full of pottery. The two Dwarves left my side to join the elders inside.

"Where do you want this?"

"Let's shove this in the hall otherwise we'll never get everyone in."

... _Everyone_?

And the bloody doorbell rang again.

 _'No...'_ I stared at the hallway which led to the foyer.  _'This is NOT happening!'_

"That must be the others!" Balin said, unhelpful coot!

"No, no, no...!" I chanted as I stormed my way towards the front door. "No more Dwarves! I don't want anymore visitors!"

Prepared to give them a good lashing with threat to have them all arrested for driving me up the wall with this madness they were subjecting me to, I tore open the door—only to be met with a pile of Dwarves that fell at my feet with a big round one flopping all over the others. It was a messy tangle of flailing limbs, grunts, and trading insults. Behind them, crouching low, was Gandalf the Gray Wizard, eyes lighting up upon the sight of my haggard appearance.

"Good evening, Mrs. Baggins."

"Are you saying that it is a good evening for me to find joy in?" I seethed angrily as I glared at the Wizard beyond the pile that slowly righted themselves to their feet. "Or are you simply implying I must find an evening that I can find good in?!"

Whatever answer he gave was drowned by the growing rowdiness that was the Dwarves.

Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves!


	5. The Last Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a party to be had, and that's what Mrs. Baggins hates!

They were all over the place like busy bees, swarming back and forth between the pantry shelves and into the dining room. They even went off into the vast hallways of Bag End, searching for extra seats, some of which were antiques rather than actual furniture that looked to give out the moment a heavy set Dwarf sat down. There was noise, shouts, laughs, cries, and angry indignation, and it was a wonder why the whole Shire wasn't disturbed by it all.

After that pile got to their feet and went off into the smial to join the first four into moving the dining tables and dish shelves to make more room, I quickly had to go back to my room and dress myself when a Dwarf with silver intricate braids tutted at me for being dressed in nothing but my nightgown and robe. The lingering looks from Fíli and Kíli prompted me to do as I was told, no matter how much I wanted to stay behind and make sure nothing collapsed in on itself because of the chaos they were creating in Bag End.

It wasn't long when I returned, dressed in a simple collared white shirt with a sleeveless brown dress over it, my house flats still on to avoid stepping on the dirt tracks the burly folk were leaving behind on my carpets and floorboards.

"Please put that back!" I commanded.

Shouting at the guest (no matter how unwelcome) was a rude thing to do, I knew, but I was losing all the manners I've been taught from both my own relatives and the in-laws. Even with my cries of protest, the men continued on with no signs of stopping anytime soon. I with  _this close_ to pulling out all my hair I was so frustrated with the bunch!

I caught sight of two older Dwarves, both of them carrying two antique chairs that I recalled were wedding gifts for Bilbo and I. I ran to the gray-haired and red-maned duo to stop them.

"Excuse me but no! Grandpa Mungo's chairs are not for sitting!"

They continued on, but the gray-haired one gestured to one side of his ears. "Can't hear a thing, lassie! I'm half deaf, speak louder!"

My mouth didn't get the chance to tell him to return the antique chairs because I caught sight of another Dwarf, the biggest and roundest of the bunch. Ginger hair so thick, and long, too, that it looped around his chest like a woolly scarf or necklace. Abandoning the half deaf Dwarf, I charged at the bigger one as he was making off with three big wheels of cheddar cheese!

"A bit too much, isn't it?!" I called after the ginger-haired Dwarf. "You got a cheese knife?"

"Cheese knife? He eats it by the block."

Another Dwarf with dark hair and a curly mustache, a fashion which his twin braids mimicked, walked past me with a beaming smile. My eyes looked above where there lied a worn-looking hat that said it had seen better days after being purchased by the chipper fellow walking after the ginger Dwarf.

Then I spotted Fíli and Kíli hefting the ale barrel from its rightful place and towards the dining room table, throwing me a wink as they passed my gawking form.

"Oh no you two don't! Put that  _back_!" I shouted at them.

It was then I noticed Gandalf take a head count of who was with them, and I listened as he listed the names of each Dwarf.

"Fíli, Kíli, Óin, Glóin," he paused as he took another scan. "Dwalin, Balin. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur."

It was like a demented nursery rhyme song when it came to the name of the Dwarves, I observed as I tried to commit their names to memory. It was a bit difficult, the names. It was like playing a tongue-twisting game to leave the player confused.

"Dori, Nori..."

I got sidetracked when I saw a small Dwarf, around my height, and a little scrawnier than all the others, making off with my prized tomatoes. 

"Excuse me, not my prized tomatoes!" 

"Ori!" Gandalf boomed cheerily, smiling down at the bob-headed small Dwarf.

The appearance of a dark-haired Dwarf with something that looked to be an axe jammed right into his forehead, leaving me to stare at him like a fool, spoke in both Khuzdul and with hand signs that I guessed was Inglishmek.

"Yes, you're quite right Bifur." Gandalf nodded as if he understood Dwarf speak (and he probably could). "We appear to be one Dwarf short..."

As much as outraged I felt about letting one more inside my home, because honestly I can't be expected to bring one more after this bunch, a commotion grabbed my attention and I inhaled sharply to find Fíli climbing over the dining table as if it were a walkway.

"You there! Stop that! Get off of there this instance!" I shouted as I went into the dining room. "Have you no manners?!"

The fair-haired Dwarf opened his mouth to say something, and it was probably something witty or flirty, but I wasn't having any. Instead of waiting to hear his poor excuse on why he thought it was a good idea to stand on my dining table, I grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat and yanked him off it. The silver-braided Dwarf who had tutted me earlier for my under dressed state gave a nod of approval for my actions, turning to the tomato thief from earlier (and going by their names they were probably related) to give the younger a quick lecture why the elder didn't want him mimicking Fíli and Kíli.

The two brothers began to crowd around me from both sides, forcing me to sit between them when they saw that I was about to go after Dwalin who was using one of his weapons to cut into the meat of the ham. With a small pile of food shoved in my hands, everyone helped themselves to food and ale.

The dining table turned into a buffet, numerous thick hands grabbing onto the first delicious thing that caught their eyes and stuffing it in their bearded mouths. My throat was sore from all the yelling, and seeing as it was going nowhere, I was resigned to the fate of watching the Dwarves eat my food away. The only upside to this was that I at least had a good excuse to tell any visitors why my pantry was empty instead of having to listen to everyone accuse me of not taking care of myself properly.

"Bombur, catch!" the funny hat-wearing Dwarf called to the ginger who sat at the head of the table.

A boiled egg flew over everyone's head until it landed perfectly in the open jaws of the Dwarf, everyone cheering for the aim staying true.

My husband was probably rolling in his grave.

It took every strength in me not to lose it when they all began a belching contest after they chugged down the ale (and what messy drinkers, liquid staining their beards)! A few times I tried to get up and escape, but the brothers always caught me and sat me back down, chattering my ear off. As soon as they got distracted by the ale chugging, I made my escape and headed through the kitchen and around the pantry to find it all barren (with the exception of some cabbages).

Hopefully the worst of it was over.

* * *

Someone from the high heavens must have heard my prayer because they then decided to make it absolutely worse for me.

"Excuse me, that is a doily! Not a dishcloth!" I reprimanded a Dwarf with sharp-shaped hair, snatching the cloth from his fingers.

I had to also keep an extra on that one, who also happened to be related to Ori and the silver-haired Dwarf, for I had seen him tinker with several things and some chests from nearly all over the smial, and all of it reminded me of the sticky-fingered Lobelia. Maybe Lobelia and that Dwarf were distantly related?

"But it's full of holes!" the funny hat Dwarf pointed out, standing near the kitchen fire as he nursed a cup of ale.

"It's suppose to look like that. It's crochet." I explained, folding the cloth.

"Oh and what a wonderful game it is, too," the Dwarf nodded before adding, "If you got the balls for it."

Several nearby Dwarves busted out into fits of laughter, but they were all quickly silenced when the silver-haired Dwarf, Ori's relative, snapped something at them in Khuzdul that left the others quite chastised. None moreso than the hat-wearing Dwarf who gave an awkward cough before busying himself trying to snatch the sausage links off the star-haired Dwarf's hands.

"My dear Chrysanthe," Gandalf appeared, looking down at me with a pipe in his hand. "What on earth is the matter?"

"Oh, where oh where do I begin?" I sarcastically hummed, hands to my hips as my eyes rounded the room where the Dwarves were scattered. "How about we start with this: what in the name of Lady Yavanna are they doing here?!"

"They are quite a merry gathering," Gandalf remarked as he took a whiff of his pipe. "They're not so much different from you when they have a party going."

"The only difference between Hobbits and Dwarves is that we are warned ahead rather than barging into people's homes!" I snapped.

The Wizard only shrugged.

"Look at the halls! There is mud and dirt trampled on the carpet!" I dragged the Wizard by his sleeve, pointing at the mess. "The state of my kitchen! They pillaged the bloody pantry! I'm not even going to tell you what they did in the bathrooms, let's leave your imagination to it!"

The Wizard was now giving me a look I had seen all too often when my father and mother payed me a visit from all the way from Tookburough. The Baggins family having snitched on me for my isolated behavior, admitting no one into the house until a cousin of mine had to practically sneak in through the windows, open the door, and let in my parents to begin their family intervention. I closed my eyes and slowly inhaled, trying to calm my flayed nerves and slowly exhaled.

"I just don't understand what is happening." I told Gandalf. "Why are these Dwarves here? What do they want?"

Of course, there was another interruption when the tomato snatching Ori came up to me with an empty plate in hand, politely asking, "Excuse me, but what should I do with plate, Mrs. Baggins?"

Moving to take it, and show him where the kitchen sink was so that he could do me the favor or informing the others, another hand grabbed the plate from Ori.

"Here you go, Ori. Give it to me." Fíli said—then tossed it in the air.

" _EXCUSE ME_!" I screeched at Fíli, feeling close to having a heart attack.

Off the plates flew, Gandalf ducking and diving out of the way as Kíli caught them from his brother Fíli and tossed them again inside the kitchen where someone must have caught them given that I heard no crashes of broken dishes. The two Dwarves then made it a game to juggle the pottery, keeping them out of my reach when I went to try and snatch them out of the air.

"That's my mother-in-law's West Farthing crockery!" I protested at the back of Fíli's head. "It's over a hundred years old!"

So distracted that it took a moment for me to realize that the Dwarves sitting in the dining table were thumping their boots on the floorboards and banging the silverware together.

"Could you not treat the silverware like that?" I glared at the others. "You'll blunt them!"

" _Oooh_ ~! Did you hear that lads?" the hat-wearing Dwarf turned to the others with a grin most mischievous. "She says we'll blunt the knives."

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," Kíli began singing, gesturing for another pottery for his brother to toss over.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Fíli joined in, catching another plate from the dining room.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates," the other followed along, creating a lyric of lunacy and chaos. "That's what Mrs. Baggins hates!"

"Cut the cloth, trail the fat,

Leave the bones on the bedroom matt

Pour the milk on the pantry floor

Splash the wine on every door!"

The place became a house of flying pottery and silverware. Some of them even improvised with musical instruments by using tea pots while I saw the funny hat-wearing Dwarf pull a flute from his sleeve, playing a little tune to create rhythmic music for the Dwarves to continue singing along with. The old me would have clapped and laughed along at the quick imagination and creation from nothing to something, and I could picture Bilbo shouting at them for the abuse of his dishes, but he was not here and I was the only one left guarding his things.

"Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl

Pound them up with a thumping pole

And when you've finished if they are whole

Send them down the hall to roll!"

I ran into the kitchen to see what sort of mess they've created, and the crowds of Dwarves parted ways for me and I saw sitting on the kitchen table was a pile of dishes stacked neatly together, all scraped clean when the ginger-haired Dwarf had been used as a sort of garbage disposal.

"That's what Mrs. Baggins hates!" they finished, all of them breaking out into laughter at the sight of my gobsmacked expression.

"That is it!" I shouted at them, beyond angry and tired of their games and tomfoolery.

Shoving my way through the crowds, I went through the parlor room and ignored Gandalf's call of my name, ignoring the number of boots trailing after me. I was going to call some Hobbit officials, report to them about Dwarves invading my home, have them all arrested or at least kicked off my property, and above all, have Gandalf banished from showing up in Hobbiton ever again!

"Chrysanthe," Gandalf tried again, but I grabbed my coat off the rack and made for the door. "Please listen."

"Oh no!" I sneered at the Wizard. "I've done enough of listening to a bunch of Dwarves and their conniving Wizard who won't state the purpose of their visit! I'm going to the Thain!"

"Aw, Mrs. Baggins," the Dwarf in the funny hat cackled. "It was only a jest!"

"We'll see how funny it is when I have you all placed under arrest!" I shouted at them as I unlocked the doors.

"Chrysanthe Baggins!" Gandalf admonished, but I continued with my death glare as I swung open the door.

"I never want to see another Dwarf again!" I cried out one last time as I stepped out into the night—

And crashed into a wall. A wall broad with furs burying my face. A wall that gripped me by the arms, gently holding me up in case I fell. A wall that seemed to be living and breathing. I stiffened up where I stood, my stomach dropped to the bottom of my feet.

"It seems I've come in a bad time," a new voice announced, one much rich and sophisticated than the others.

Slowly, I pulled myself away from the talking wall holding me against them, my eyes trained ahead to spot what looked to be a chest covered by a cloak which was covered by a fur-lined overcoat decorated with the typical geometric style Dwarves seemed to be overly fond of.

My eyes then carefully trailed upwards from the chest to face the owner of the voice, tracing the long dark strands of hair that fell over the cloak. His beard was small and short, not decorated like most of the others usually wore, and it encircled his grim-lined lips. Finally, framed with two long braids that were almost hidden away inside the dark mane of his hair, with but a few silver strands found, I was met with cold blue eyes.

Eyes which stared down at me with speculation and judgement.

This was the very Dwarf counted missing by Gandalf.

"Ah, Chrysanthe Baggins," Gandalf's voice filtered over the air, but I couldn't break out of the Dwarf's gaze even if I wanted to, he somehow forced me to keep my eyes focused solely on him. "Allow me to introduce to you the leader of the company: Thorin Oakenshield."

"Why don't we take this inside." Balin spoke from behind me.

With that, the Dwarf before me let go of his hold and took a step forward which prompted me to take a step backwards to keep the distance.

This continued on for several steps in complete silence, his eyes demanding my absolute attention until he finally stopped when we were inside my home, the Dwarves encircling us both whilst Gandalf closed the door behind us. The Dwarf removed his cloak, handing it off to Kíli who appeared beside him, yet those eyes remained locked on me and there was a sense of helplessness. It was like a stoat in the field, it's eyes locked on the rabbit, leaving it in a trance until it came close enough for the kill.

"So," Thorin began, his arms folded over his chest as he eyed me from my toes to my face. "This is the Hobbit."

Dear Lady Yavanna, help me.


	6. Burglar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because she was a Took didn't actually mean she could Take... right?

Hobbit.

Housewife.

Grocer.

Those were the words thrown my way by the Dwarf named Thorin Oakenshield, the last to arrive in Bag End, and the one regarded as a leader amongst the thirteen that followed his lead in through the parlor, the kitchen, and to the dining room. Given with how late he had arrived to my smial, Bombur the round Dwarf had to make quick work with a pot, some left over potatoes, carrots, small pieces of meat and spice ingredients, and made stew out of it to feed the surly dark-haired man sitting at the head of the dining table beside Gandalf.

I wanted to say something nasty in return, tell him to his face how horrible his sense of direction was for not being able to find Bag End, but I was too busy glaring daggers at Gandalf for having left a mark on the door I had painted a week ago when the green paint was starting to wear off.

The Dwarves, I admit grudgingly, cleaned up well after themselves that it looked like no raucous party had ever occurred in my home had it not been for the emptiness of the pantry. There was literally almost nothing left of it for even the scavenging mice to nibble on (not that there was any in here).

Now the mood was more quiet, and with only a few candles lit whilst it casted a dim glow from inside the dining room. The others waited patiently as their lead man took to his bowl of stew and left over ale served by Bombur and Dwalin, and I busied myself in putting away the dishes, pottery, and silverware back to their rightful places.

I ignored the murmur of voices going on inside the dining room, going back and forth to correct my husband's belongings and praying under my breath that there would be no second coming of another Dwarf storm.

At least the last Dwarf wasn't barging in and demanding a second round of chaos in my home.

"... this quest is ours, and ours alone." I caught the words from Thorin's voice, and I couldn't stop myself in finally joining the others and Gandalf sitting in the still crowded but thankfully quiet dining room.

They were going a quest?

_'And what am I? A tavern?'_

"Ah, Chrysanthe my dear. Would you mind bringing us a candle?" Gandalf asked kindly as he spotted me standing a little ways from them in the opening.

Not trusting myself to say something snappy at the Wizard (still miffed from all this secrecy), and feeling the unnatural eyes of Thorin on my form that it created goosebumps, I hurried away from them but returned with a lit candlestick to find Gandalf standing and unfolding a map on the table.

"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."

I leaned a little closer, standing between Gandalf and Thorin with the candlestick, ignoring the Dwarf while taking the designs of the map. It was small, there was a great mountain drawn on it, a hand which had a finger pointing at something with runes written beneath, and small settlements located beneath the mountain. And at the very corner of the map, standing out boldly from the black ink, was a red serpent floating above the corner of the map, almost at the opposite end of the compass drawn on the map.

"The Lonely Mountain," I read out loud, softly and almost quietly.

“Aye, Óin has read the portents, and the portents say: it is time.” the red-haired Dwarf with the great mane not unlike a lion announced to the others.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold." the half deaf Dwarf called Óin spoke, and I pulled away from the table after settling the candle to probably find myself a snack. But his next words stopped me from going further. "When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.“

I turned around to face them. "What beast?"

The funny hat-wearing Dwarf who had no trouble saying things without actually thinking them through was the one to speak up, pipe in his hand as he let out a breath of smoke while answering my question with an ever beaming smile plastered across his bearded face.

“Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." the Dwarf told me. "Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals—"

I noticed from the uncomfortable shifting with the rest of the other Dwarves that this one in particular had a talent of not noticing how his words was pulling everyone in a wary mood. The younger ones with their eyes wide and the older ones' faces turning black with what I could only assume were terrible memories of the incident back East. I had yet to have been born at the time, but I heard stories about it growing up from my family who caught wind of it from other Hobbits, who also caught it from travelers. A great wyrm sacking Erebor and leaving the Dwarves without their gold, and most importantly, without their home.

"I think I know what a dragon is, thank you very much Master Dwarf!" I said irritably to him, and it only earned me a smile and wink from him.

Suddenly, Ori shot up from his seat at the very back between Bombur and the silver-haired Dwarf that was always seen fussing over him.

“I’m not afraid! I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of the Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie.” Ori loudly declared, earning some small cheer from the others while the elder beside him yanked him back to his seat, chiding him for his outburst.

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best," Balin spoke from beside the funny hat-wearing Dwarf, shooting Gandalf and Thorin a pointed look. "Nor brightest.”

There was a murmur of disagreement, most of them offended by Balin's implication that they were dim-witted fools who all of them were going to go against a fire drake who held their home hostage. And really, there suicidal quest was answer enough: these were fools for going out there to die for their bloody gold. Gold was just a thing, an object that would remained eternal, but life was fleeting.

The gap was wide, and I barely see how my blood once shared theirs, these hard so-called cousins of mine. My thoughts and the buzzing of noise went silent when the young Dwarf Fíli slammed his hand on the mahogany table to grab everyone's attention.

“We may be few in number, but we’re fighters, all of us, to the last dwarf!” another slam on my dining table and I was tempted to go after him for abusing it.

“And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company. Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.” Kíli added, inadvertently pulling Gandalf in a conversation which the Wizard looked like he wanted to disappear from when all eyes turned to him.

Gandalf? Kill hundreds of dragons? I think not. Those young men were going to get a rude surprise when their expectations on the lanky man crouching in the dining room was just a conniving old creature in a pointy hat and stick.

“Oh, well, now, uh, I-I-I wouldn’t say that, I—” Gandalf stumbled over his words.

“How many, then?” the silver-haired one next to Ori asked.

“Uh, what?” Gandalf froze.

“Well, how many dragons have you killed?" the Dwarf pushed, expecting an answer for his question.

Gandalf appeared to be choking on his pipe weed, looking like a cornered animal. I almost felt sorry for him being put in that position...  _almost_. I was still not letting go of the fact that he had planned all this, my home being intruded and treated like a blasted playground for these pushy, hairy Dwarves.

"Go on, give us a number!” the silver-haired Dwarf demanded loudly, and that's when everyone shot to their feet and started roaring with threats of violence.

"Could you not!" I said helplessly, not wanting a brawl to break out in my home. "Please, stop!"

Like always, they ignored my pleads of protest. Or, if I had to guess, my voice was drowned out from the guttural war cries of the Dwarves.

Thorin, who had been sitting quietly, surprised me when he stood to his feet from beside me and gave a harsh bellow in Khuzdul; the fight which appeared to threaten utter destruction in my dining room disappeared just as instantly as it came. Everyone was back in their respective seats, appearing as though they were not moments away from brandishing their battle axes. I stood frozen next to the Dwarf, surprised by how the other men were quick to follow his command. Thorin's thick arm barely brushed against my own scrawny one, and I internally shuddered at the close proximity that I desperately wished there was somewhere for me to sit—preferably somewhere far away from this Dwarf.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?"

There a stunned silence, a great pause that had the other bearded men look to one another with worry of the implications behind their leader's words.

"Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected."

There was a lot of fools, including these Dwarves sitting here, who were probably looking at the Lonely Mountain with speculation with a single decision: should they or shouldn't they? It was like a great Elf philosopher wrote that Bilbo once told me. There either is something alive, or there is nothing there at all, the only way to know is to investigate. But this was much bigger than wondering if there was a goblin or a cat alive or dead inside a box, we're talking about a literal dragon!

"Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

The answer came in war cries, the Dwarves determined to see to the end, no matter what horrid fate awaited them. More Khuzdul thrown in here and there, but the excited crowd like wild fire went damp when Balin brought in another problem to their plan in taking back their mountain kingdom.

"You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no other way into the mountain."

That's not right, I thought, they should at least have other doors, smaller ones at least for entry because this was a enormous mountain! Surely there was other entrances to be found? 

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." Gandalf remarked as he whipped out a key from within his robes, the item sitting neatly in his hands.

"How came you by this?" Thorin demanded, surprised.

“It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now.” Gandalf said, letting Thorin take it.

"So, given that most of them don't know this key, it's suppose to be a secret?" I asked. Gandalf gave a nod to confirm that little theory.

"A secret key for a secret door." Fíli added, impressed by my assessment.

"A secret door for a secret passage way inside." Kíli inputs cheekily.

There was a look of wonder upon the faces of the other Dwarves, all of them looking excited by the tables turning in their favor. Gandalf then pressed a pointed finger against the foreign runes printed on the map, the place where there was the pointing hand.

“These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.” Gandalf informed the others. “Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

"That's why we need a burglar." Ori stated.

"And a bloody good one at that, I'd imagine." I noted absently. "One that can actually rob a dragon blind, too."

“And are you?”

When I looked up, when I finally noticed how still everyone went, how their eyes locked on my small form standing at the other end of the table near the entrance of the dining room, when Thorin was slightly looking up at me from where he was sitting, I felt my stomach drop at the sense of dread. A dawning realizing of Gandalf barging his way into my life after so many years, the Dwarves helping themselves to my home and making small acquaintances with me throughout the chaos of their little party, and this talk of a quest to journey over the Misty Mountains towards a mountain that was possibly housing a sleeping drake.

“Am I what?” I asked slowly, looking at Gandalf and the others but never looking at the Dwarf from beside me. His eyes burning holes on the side of my head.

“She said she’s an expert! Hey hey!” Óin cheered, looking to the others who didn't express the same enthusiasm as he did.

I was beginning to wonder if that hearing trumpet was actually helping with his hearing, making it worse, or he was using it as a way to push his agenda further to his liking regardless what everyone else's opinion was.

"Sorry, you must be mistaken," I said, trying to correct the half deaf old Dwarf. "I'm not a burglar! Never really stolen anything valuable in my life!"

"But you have stolen something?" the star-haired Dwarf asked, catching onto the way I used my words.

"If you want to know, I've stolen only sweets off the tables at parties. Never was I seen, nor caught, and my hands remained mark free from slaps on the wrists." I drawled out, earning a few cackles from several amongst the table.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mrs. Baggins. She’s hardly burglar material.” Balin sighed. "What we're after isn't something from a party, after all."

“Aye, the Wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” Dwalin added, and I glared at him, offended on behalf of the whole Shire. "And it does not help that she's a defenseless lady."

My badminton comment when Thorin asked me to choose between an axe or sword was suppose to be a way to break the ice of awkward surrounding us, but they were too focused on my answer in if I could defend myself with a weapon. I should have probably told them I was alright with a bow and arrow, just like Kíli, but I was too confused about what was going on to truly give them a clear answer.

There was a rise of voices, all of them bickering over what they could do about their burglar not being someone who they hoped would be. I crossed my arms, closed my eyes, and breathed heavily through my nose. There was a headache spreading itself at the forefront of my mind like an absolute menace, and I wanted to go and make tea to calm my mind, but with these Dwarves, it seemed impossible for such troubles to go away. I opened my eyes as I watched the Dwarf with the axe stuck to his head make gestures of a body getting its limbs ripped out of its sockets.

Dwarves.

Then a great shadow overcame the entire room, dimming all the candles to further the darkness. I gasped in surprise, frightened when Gandalf's booming voice echoed loudly not only through my ears, but reverberated through my bones like thunder.

“ _Enough_! If I say Chrysanthe Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar she is!"

The shadow then diminished, all startled eyes looking to the Wizard with sharp focus. His voice returning to the gentle and patient tone I had always known, and my racing heart slowly returning to steady itself. However, there was a warmth I hadn't realized which followed with a sense of something pressing against the small of my back and waist.

It was a hand.

It wasn't like a grope with lecherous intentions, but rather like a hand to steady me, to remind me that they were there and not about to let me stumble over my feet. It was only more embarrassing to know that it was Thorin holding me steady once again, just like he had the first time when I had tried to walk out the door. I quickly pulled away, trying more than ever to ignore the Dwarf next to me.

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage." Gandalf explained to the rest, finally piecing the confusing puzzle that had left me baffled since that morning. Gandalf then returned to his seat, addressing Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mrs. Baggins. There’s a lot more to her than appearances suggest, and she’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including herself."

Gandalf's words, his belief, his argument for me made me stop the hurricane that was my mind. All the grief surrounding the Dwarves ebbing away, leaving nothing but wonder at the compassion he held behind his eyes when the Wizard looked towards me.

"You _must_ trust me on this." Gandalf said, his eyes turning towards Thorin.

There was a pause, and without meaning to, my gaze fell to the Dwarf who, in turn, met mine with his own. Again, it was like at the door, his eyes forcing me to stand up straight at attention with an invisible power only the Dwarf knew how to wield.

"Very well," Thorin finally answered after a long time, turning away from me. "We will do it your way."

I blinked, uncertain.

"Give her the contract." Thorin ordered.

"Alright, we're off!" the dreadful Dwarf with the obnoxious hat chirped. Like they all weren't going off on a journey that didn't end with flames and death.

“It’s just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration," Balin listed as he stood from his seat and pulled out a folded paper, hand outstretched for me to take the parchment. "Funeral arrangements, so forth.”

“Funeral arrangements?” I repeated. I tried to reach for it first but Thorin grabbed it out of Balin's hand first then slapped it in my palm.

Shuffling myself away from the close proximity I was with the glaring Dwarf, I unfolded the parchment and paused when I watched it unfold into a much longer contract. The words were written quite small, with a few folds here and there to fit into it, and I threw the Dwarves a dubious look. My husband worked as a land lord, and sometimes as a real estate agent, so he always went through the contracts to find loop holes and faults when he reviewed the paperwork thoroughly. It was quite a learning experience to see Bilbo work through the system like that, watch how he conducted his business and giving me a few pointers when he saw my interest in his work.

No matter how long the parchment was, I wasn't going to be a fool and just sign it! The summary of the whole thing, it appeared, is that I would receive one fourteenth of the profit, a reward for my part in the quest to help reclaim their kingdom. The sign of the number meant that the others were also in on the treasure as well, and if the stories were true, the wealth I would be getting would probably overflow my home.

Honestly, what did I care about gold? The others could have the profit... I'd probably walk away with a small chest for my efforts. I couldn't exactly go out of my own way to do it for free; life doesn't work that way for people!

And why was I even considering this to begin with?!

“Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations ... evisceration …" I slowed my reading, making sure that I was seeing right until I looked at Gandalf with a nonplussed expression. " _Incineration_?!”

“Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.” the bloody Dwarf in the bloody hate said, cheery as ever.

I was wrong about Hobbits and Dwarves being different because I was seriously considering murdering that fellow in the funny hat. He was trying my patience and said patience was but skin thin away from vaulting over the dining table to rip his atrocious mustache clean off his upper lips.

"I think she's got the gist of it, Bofur, thank you." Balin said, taking notice of my murderous appearance.

“Think furnace with wings.” Bofur, the troglodyte, continued on.

“Bofur....” the star-haired Dwarf murmured, sensing death in the air.

“Flash of light, searing pain, then— _Poof_!" Bofur swung his pipe, all smiles and laughter about describing a painful demise waiting on the other side of the Misty Mountains. "You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

"Say one more word and I use your body as a new fertilizer for my garden!" I barked at him, pointing a threatening finger right at his nose.

The smile present on Bofur's face was immediately wiped off, and there was an echo of audible swallowing heard around the room.

"Well," Dwalin said after a moment, taking a quiet sip from his tankard. "She'll do."

Slowly, hesitantly, the others gave small grunts of agreement.

Gandalf looked like he won a prize at a party carnival held at one of the South Farthing village festivals.

"I never said I agreed to signing this contract!" I stated, agitated that they would think I would do so like it was a given fact.

"But Mrs. Baggins—" Kíli called from the back, but I cut him off by slapping the parchment back on the table and turning to leave.

"You afraid of dying, Mrs. Baggins?"

I froze from taking another step, Thorin's voice somehow holding me in place. Forcing myself, I turned towards him, no longer startled or wary, but determined. The Dwarf, standing so tall that it was almost unheard of, matching the broad frame of the fierce-looking Dwalin. His cold blue eyes looked at me, demanding an answer here and now rather than allowing me to brush him off so easily.

"I am _not_ afraid of dying." I answered tersely. "You all step out that door, begin for that kingdom, then you'll die. This isn't some quest: this is a suicide mission, simple as that."

"Chrysanthe," Gandalf said softly, his eyes knowing.

"I will not watch you fools kill yourselves for some mere treasure." I continued, voice icy as Fell Winter. "I am not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of others dying for _nothing_."

I turned away from them, heading down the hall to the foyer, unlatched the door, and stepped out into the cool air of the night.

* * *

Ori explored the place that Gandalf called was the parlor room of the smial. The home that was a hole in the ground was quite lovely and quaint, and his fingers itched to pull out one of his journals to sketch it all. The roots of the tree that stood erected from above blended nicely with the decor, like it was all part of the scene of everything being cherry wood to the home owner's liking.

After Mrs. Baggins left them, Ori felt a sense of hollowness in his chest. This was probably what defeat felt like for every Dwarf.

The Hobbit mistress sounded tough, the way she snapped order into Bofur for being so callous without noticing. Dori had snapped at the miner for being so crass in front of a lady, and especially at their hostess, too. Ori felt a flush of shame for having partaken in that belching contest with Kíli; that sort of behavior was probably looked down upon in Hobbit culture, he'd imagine.

It was odd, being around a Hobbit. They were so different from Dwarves. For one, they didn't have beards like he and everyone did. Another, they didn't wield battle axes, swords, hammers, or whatever else weapons (there was pitchforks, shovels, pikes, and gardening tools). And they lived out in the open fields, sometimes woodlands, not like how his brothers and everyone lived in the mountains of the earth.

Hobbits were once Dwarves who had grown fond of the grass, trees, open skies, leaving behind their love of smithmaking, their desire to unveil the treasures from the earth, and pulling themselves from the arms of their Father and Maker, Mahal. Their cousins were smaller, softer, weaker, and less hairier. The other Dwarves, when Ori had been a younger while studying under Balin's tutelage, used the term Hobbit as an insult or slur when they noticed his lack of interest in battle and smithing.

"You're about as useful as a Hobbit, Ori!"

"Don't be such a Hobbit, Ori!"

"Why don't you go to the Shire where you belong, you bloody _Hobbit_!"

It drove him mad, being pushed around like that, and he hated being compared to these soft creatures. And then, in a fit or rage when it all became too much, he screamed at Dori and Nori until his voice was hoarse and his eyes were wet. But his tantrum ended abruptly when Dori strode over to him and slapped the young Dwarf right across his whiskered cheeks, forcing Ori into silence as his eldest brother glared down at him in disappointment.

"Those young whipper-snappers don't know a thing about Hobbits, Ori! Do you even know how we got here in Ered Luin? Do you even know how we get food to this mostly deserted place with barely no field to make a small farm with? Do you even  _know_ how we have a good trading system?"

Long ago, before he, Fíli, Kíli, and Gimli were born, his brothers and mother had barely escaped the Lonely Mountain with their lives intact. The Battle of Moria was a big blow to their ranks, leaving them more vulnerable for attacks by unsavory scum looking to take more than what they barely had for themselves to survive. His mother pregnant and without her husband, leaving Dori and Nori to protect her.

And then upon reaching to the far parts of the West, the Dwarves came upon a green land with rolling hills and small people: the Shire.

The leader of the Hobbits, the Thain, had arrived with his delegates to meet with the royal family. They all had been turned away from cruel Men, the Dwarves that worked for commission getting unfair payment for their efforts, often cheated out of their gold. Ori wasn't even going to start with the Elves. Rather than tell them to find land elsewhere, the Thain allowed them entry to the Shire.

The Hobbits, from what Dori described, were wary and cautious folk who weren't too fond of outlandish surprises, but they were still kind and merciful. Giving away their food to those who couldn't afford, their clothes for those who did not have enough, and their shelters for those who could not fit inside a tent or tavern. The Shire was great and grand, providing for the Dwarves and Hobbits alike without any problem of food and shelter going low.

It took a few weeks, but Nori said those were some good weeks he spent in so long, finally able to put his feet up to rest. And there was even one time when Nori, along with a few others Dwarflings, were allowed to attend a birthday party where they were giving out the most delicious of treats Nori had ever tasted. He stole a few to take back to his mum and brother.

Finally, there was a destination set for the Dwarves of Erebor.

A mountain range, all of it left unattended. Free for the taking.

The only downside was that it was near a port where the Elves lived there (a port which was rumored to sail into the Undying Lands).

"Hobbits are kind, Ori." Dori said to him, calming the anger in the young scholar. "They give chances and mercy to those who desperately needed it. If they tell you that you're as useful as a Hobbit, then be proud. If they tell you to not be a Hobbit, ignore him and just be that! If they tell you to go to the Shire, then go and bring back those cakes to share with your brothers!"

After that, Ori never let those hooligans hurt him with their words. Hobbits had saved them. They saved the Dwarves, they saved his King, and they saved his family.

So, when he heard about the journey initially starting from inside the Shire, he was excited to go and see it for himself. Riding close with his brothers and their other companions, Ori couldn't help but admire the green land that he had heard so much about in his brothers' stories. The few stops to buy some dry meat on the journey was full of curious encounters and lovely sight-seeing. It wasn't at all like a mountain, and it made Ori feel small for being out in the open, but the Hobbits felt nice and safe.

When he ~~fell~~  entered Mrs. Baggins' abode, he was immediately enthralled by it. It was like a maze, it was bright with warm colors, and it was everything unlike the stones of his own home.

The hearth was burning nicely, a crackling noise from the fire as Bombur threw more wood into the pit. The flicker of the light made Ori look up, and he blinked in surprise to find three pairs of eyes staring back at him.

"Oh, look," Ori said as he stepped closer to investigate the paintings inside the oval-shaped frames plastered on the wall.

"That one," Bofur pointed at the third painting which sat in the middle between the two face. "Looks new."

"I wonder who that is." Kíli wondered as he stared at the painting alongside Ori.

"That would be Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf answered, startling the Dwarves at his sudden appearance from behind them.

"Aye?" Bofur huffed as he looked at the painting. "Now that you mentioned it, I haven't heard or seen the man himself. Where'd he scarper off to? Off on a holiday without his lovely bonnie lass to keep him company?"

"No, you fool," Dwalin glowered. "He's dead."

Ori jumped at that, eyes wide in shock.

"She's a widow." Balin stated softly. The much older and wiser Dwarves had a knowing look, leaving the rest of them feeling like fools. It was no wonder Mrs. Baggins was so upset.

Their leader, Thorin, stood behind the desk where there was a round-shaped window. Ori could see that his eyes were trained on the lone figure sitting on the bench near the front gate.

"Wha..." Kíli opened his mouth, probably to ask for more details, but a elbow jab to his gut from his brother Fíli silenced him.

"You all heard of what occurred in the Shire," Gandalf said, walking through the small crowd gathered at the parlor room, heading for the foyer. "It was three years ago."

"Aye," Glóin nodded. "There was a great winter storm that blocked all roads into the Shire, trapping them all inside really. On the other end, the Brandywine River froze over, allowing passage for the White Wolves to enter their lands."

Ori remembered that. Fell Winter it had been called by the Hobbits. 

A freakish winter storm unlike any other had rolled across the West. The crops that the Hobbits had yet to reap went into early hibernation; stags, boars, hares, and other animals they would depend on to feed themselves had fled from the approach of the direwolves, leaving them less to eat. The blizzards so frequent that traveling on the snow-covered roads was impossible. Ered Luin and the Shire were cut off from everyone, trapped in their own homes, barely enough food to eat that they had to resort in killing their ponies and donkeys for their meat, and the cold... He shuddered, the cold was so deathly and evil than any winter Ori had ever known.

Very few of them lost their lives to it, mostly from the mines due to the frost which escalated a lot more accidents, but they had hoarded their food and kept warm by the roaring fires of their workshops. It had been still a little difficult to watch the dead be entombed in their stone coffins, the grieving families lighting the funeral pyres to send their dearly beloved to the Halls of Mahal, but the Dwarves carried on.

The Shire, from what he heard, had it worse.

Because Hobbits were softer and weaker than Dwarves, the death toll in the Shire had been quite high. The winter did not discriminate: men, women, elderly, _children_ , all of them taken by hunger, by sickness, by the cold, by the White Wolves. Ori heard horrifying stories when the Dwarves, traveling through the melting snow, would find several bodies that had been hidden away under the piles of snow. A lot of Dwarves received so much commissions of at least less than a thousand coffins to be sent to the Shire.

Ori never forgot how he once came across Dori, his brother's hands shaking as he dusted a tiny coffin the size of his arm length, eyes wet for the tiny life that had been snuffed out so terribly.

It took awhile for the Shire to heal itself, to recover, but somehow they pulled through and were able to meet with the Dwarves to deliver crops and other trade for their benefit despite the circumstances they had faced.

"Why did you really pick her, Gandalf?" Thorin asked, still looking through the window.

"Because," Gandalf said as he grabbed the latch on the door, about to head outside to join the Hobbit mistress. "I believe you need her just as she needs you, you just don't know it yet."


End file.
